Shattered words
by Inkfire
Summary: The story of his life was quiet and sad, not dramatic at all. It was whispered in the dark, and he didn't like to listen - but he had to. A drabble for the Character Quest, self-challenge.


**So I've gotten tired of writing nothing, being writer-blocked and lazy as hell, and I've decided to try something else. I'm going to pick characters at random, and get to WORK :) and if I can manage a long-chaptered fic, I'll be a happy little bunny. **

**#1 of the Character Quest: Quirrell. **

You were never more than the stammering boy in the background.

You grew up that way, with your nose in a book and your mouth clamped shut as long as you could. So _of course_ you were a Ravenclaw, and of course you were so terrified of not finding the password answer to get back into your common room. You stuttered like crazy and everyone had a good laugh – and you got pranked and pushed around, it was only natural, after all.

Strangely enough, you were good at some pretty tough stuff, Defence Against the Dark Arts, of all things, and no one could quite believe it, but it was just good grades, after all, and so it remained more or less unnoticed. You walked around the castle like a shadow, for seven years, a damn long time, you certainly know that. You kept talking as little as you could, so of course you had no friends, but it didn't matter – you had books.

You looked at the girls from a distance, white-faced, and when they met your gaze there was suddenly_ redredred _flowing in your cheeks, everything turned _redredred_ and your vision was blurry, as if you were going to cry.

It made them laugh, and that was normal, too.

You graduated with flying colours, but you couldn't even think of enjoying it, for there was suddenly a hell of a lot of _talking_, and you were asked over and over again what you wanted to do with your life, a simple enough question, really. And words kept flying in your head, but they were just words, soothing, shallow, and didn't mean anything. Words couldn't protect you from the big scary thing they called life – and that hurt, somehow, like the deepest of betrayals.

So you said you wanted to st-st-st-study, and they rolled their eyes, because one doesn't do studying for a living, well, they just _don't_. The next step was the word teach – and there, they shut their mouths.

For a while, mind you.

The talking was okay, though, because you didn't have to answer. They wouldn't have listened anyway – and so you studied. You studied long and hard, and if you'd thought about it, you could have called yourself happy. But you were wary of words now, of trying to analyse yourself like they did a thousand times, heaven forbid, so you didn't think much, you just kept on living and all in all you were okay.

(_sort of_)

You faced a classroom for the first time, and you had done some tries before: if you were deep into your subject, you actually didn't stutter _that much_. But that was pretty irrelevant, in fact, because you were never into your subject: it was school stuff, boring as they come, and the kids wouldn't have let you get into the subject anyway, they were too obviously busy _not listening_.

For once there were people there who really didn't want you to talk, didn't care whether you did or not, and guess what, it just didn't make you feel better.

It was all right though because you stuttered on valiantly, avoided the nastiest pranks and dealt with the rest, and at the end of the day, you came back to your cosy little room in the castle and... studied.

That was blissful.

But something happened to you, something that just should never have happened, something that was entirely your fault. You got curious, and one day you decided to go _out there_. You travelled. You, the bookworm, travelled – you saw the creatures for _real_. For some reason, trolls were okay – and you got some pretty little frights, but all in all, it wasn't so bad for a while. It felt... it felt like living. You were there just observing, hiding in the shadows, finding creatures that not many had approached before. You didn't have to worry about anything. You didn't have to worry about being yourself. You were just _there_.

Until _something_ found you.

You didn't understand at first. You thought you were sick. You thought you were cursed. There were voices in your head, and because you didn't like hearing people tell you what you should do or what you could be, you thought you'd go crazy, or that it was already done, really. You heard things that sounded wrong, about _power_ – and then they started seeming less and less wrong, until it just totally made sense.

The voice was soft and smooth, beautiful. It said that you could do so much more. It said that you could be brilliant, discover new things, incredible things. The discovery part made you listen. In no time you were doomed, simple as that. You heard things you would never have thought of, never suspected, that gave you goosebumps and made your heartbeat quicken like a crazy little machine. You believed in what you were told.

You got back with that voice in your ear, that soul inside your own, taking over your own, tangled so tightly you couldn't make out the boundaries anymore. You learned the thrill of power, seeking power, and the bitter taste of failure. You learned fear like you'd never known before.

You got closer and closer to your goal, you climbed all the way to the top, and then you fell, with burnt, scalded hands and a terrified heart.

When you died, you were alone.

**Next character: Piers. Ahem... wish me luck. **


End file.
